


Louder

by flannelfogarty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Choking, Cunnilingus, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelfogarty/pseuds/flannelfogarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what I imagine a night with Sam Winchester is all about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Louder

Sam’s hands; strong, large, encompassing; wrap around you. One cups you just under the jaw, putting slight pressure on your neck, just threatening enough to make you drip with want. The other hand drifts, petting your overheated skin as he whispers, “You wet for me, baby?”

You moan, words unattainable. Of course you’re wet for this man, sex on legs with a killer smile. You were wet for him the moment his eyes met yours. 

His right hand remains on your neck, continuously increasing the pressure there as his left trails down through your folds. “Mmm,” he hums. “So very wet indeed.” His fingers circle your bundle of nerves causing your mind to short-circuit with sensation, not knowing whether to focus on being choked or being stroked to completion.

Sensing your struggle, Sam moves his left hand from your center effectively stopping your warring mind but causing you to whimper at the loss. 

“Shh, baby. I know what you need.”

Before you can compute his words, he moves. You’re under him, laid flat upon the rumpled blankets covering the bed with Sam Winchester’s head between your legs. His tongue is darting out, licking and tasting the very essence of you.

You have a hard time staying quiet. It’s just not possible. You don’t want to get kicked out of the motel, though, so you practice restraint. You’re reasonably successful until Sam nips at the inside of your leg to get your attention. “Wha?” you manage.

“Louder. I want you loud enough to wake the neighbors, baby. Let us all know how good I’m making you feel.” 

“Jesus, fuck Sam!” you moan, fingers finding his long locks and gripping tight, preparing yourself for the next onslaught of tongue. 

You’re voice is so wrecked from overuse the next day you can’t even whisper a good morning, which is fine, because there are plenty more creative ways to greet Sam Winchester, right?


End file.
